


Cascade Casanova

by SummerdaySands (IvyMcAllister)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyMcAllister/pseuds/SummerdaySands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has a problem that Jim just can't solve.  (Shameless humor piece with a bit of angst for good measure.  In other words, it's not my usual plotless giggle-fest.  Fair Warning:  Yes, there are OFCs.  They're all part of the humor aspect of the piece--there's no sex, but there is the implication if you interpret it that way.  Also, the overall theme of the piece is definitely rather adult in nature.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cascade Casanova

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Jim & Blair are not my creations. They are the property of the Pet Fly guys, and I’ll return them (none the worse for wear) as soon as I’m done with them. *crosses heart* Promise! OCs are my own and are in no way intended to represent or resemble any real person, living or dead. I’ve made no money from this story.

**Cascade Casanova**

 

Blair Sandburg stretched his arms over his head, fingers linked, and yawned widely. He’d awakened with a start only a minute before, surprised to find himself face down, head resting on his crossed arms, still sitting at the desk in his tiny office at Rainier University. Still in the softening grip of sleep, he let his arms drop limply to his sides, knocking a small ceramic figure off of his desk in the process. 

Yawning again, he leaned over to see if it had broken. Retrieving the red clay statuette from the dusty floor, Blair noticed that the obscenely large penis the figure had been sporting had broken off. He felt around the floor a bit until he located the missing limb, rolling it absently between thumb and forefinger. The little Belizean fertility symbol had been a gift from one of the more attractive grad students when she got back from a dig near the Belize/Guatemala border. 

He eyed the severed member, shaking his head. 

“Too bad, little guy, but better you than me. At least it’s a clean break. A little SuperGlue, and you’ll be back in business.” 

Searching his desk drawers for glue, Blair remembered that it had almost been _his_ tackle on the chopping block. The student—what was her name… Kathy?—had the Overprotective Father From Hell. Of course, she’d failed to mention this before inviting him to dinner at her house. With, as it turned out, her entire family. She’d proceeded to introduce him as her boyfriend, which lead to a very tense fifteen minutes in the back yard while her father demanded to know what Blair’s intentions were toward his daughter. 

Blair’s carefully worded explanation of their relationship--or lack thereof--only served to send the man on a screaming bender about how Sandburg was breaking his Princess's heart. Blair had barely escaped, promising the irate man he wouldn't so much as breathe within 500 yards of darling Kathy, ever again. 

Blair sighed heavily. That had seriously sucked. He was lucky to get out of there in one piece.

Suddenly, Blair glanced at his watch, did a doubletake, and practically shot out of the door.

The emasculated golem lay on its side, already forgotten, rocking slightly in the wake of Blair’s unthinking haste.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Blair pushed the Volvo (and the speed limits) as far as he dared. He should have met Titania at the bar at 10pm. He’d almost fainted when he’d realized it was already 10:15. 

Titania—Valkyrie-blonde, curves-like-the-Autobahn Titania—was not the kind of woman you kept waiting. When they met at last month’s physical anthropology conference, he’d impulsively asked her if she’d like to get a drink sometime. He hadn’t thought she’d even give him the time, let alone her phone number, but that was exactly what she did. 

They’d ended up exchanging business cards. Hers revealed that she was an anthropological psychologist from Molalla, Oregon. She said she’d be back in Cascade in a few weeks, and suggested they meet then. She’d even called the weekend before to make sure he hadn’t forgotten.

At 10:32, Blair was parking his car outside the Tradewinds Bar and Grille. He glanced in the rearview, ran his hands through his hair and hopped out of the car. There was a line to get in, and he hoped she had already gotten a table. 

Finally, he made it to the front of the line—eying the sign that said, “Jacket & Tie Required” warily—and started to explain the situation to the very large, unsympathetic doorman. In the middle of his tale, he heard a burst of infectious laughter and glanced to his right in time to see Titania leaving the bar on the arm of a thin, anemic little man that Blair would later describe to Jim as a miniature Bill Gates. 

Blair gaped. The guy was almost a foot shorter than Titania, chicken-chested, bespectacled and had some serious acne, and here was this statuesque beauty gazing down at him like a smitten teenager. She noticed Blair then and, smiling and waving, pulled her new friend over to the velvet rope that separated the waiting line from the exit doors. 

“Blair! I’m glad you’re alright.” She smiled winningly. “I was getting worried.” She turned to the little man at her side. “I’m sorry, Terrence. This is Blair Sandburg—the man I told you about. Blair, this is Terrence McGlade. He’s a LAN network administrator. We were just heading back to his place for a nightcap.”

Blair plastered a smile on his face as he shook Terrence’s unpleasantly warm, moist hand. “God, you know, I’m sorry I’m late. Got held up at the University. Little emergency. All taken care of.” He was afraid his 'smile' was looking a bit strained. “So… were you waiting… long?” 

His voice trailed off as he watched Titania react, tittering, to a quiet comment from Terrence.

“Oh! I’m sorry Blair. You were saying?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Really. Just wishing you kids a good night, is all. I can see you’re in…” (Blair clenched his teeth) “…good hands, here, and I really should get back to the University. Make sure everything’s okay, you know?”

“Of course! No problem, Blair. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Maybe next time…?” Titania let the sentence trail off as Terrence made another quiet comment. “But we really do need to go now, so...” She was already walking away. “Bye!”  
The bouncer had watched the entire tableau in stony silence, but he finally spoke as a bewildered Blair turned slowly to face him. “Go ahead, buddy,” he said, unhooking the velvet rope that blocked the door. “Forget about the tie. Look s like you could use a drink.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Blair was back at the loft by 11. He’d flopped, barefoot, in front of the TV in sweats and a t-shirt, channel surfing aimlessly with a scowl on his face. 

Jim, on his way home from working a 3-to-11 shift for Rafe, knew something was wrong the minute he turned onto their block. Sandburg’s heart was beating erratically and his breathing was quick and shallow. *Probably a nightmare,* Jim thought to himself. Still, he continued to monitor Blair’s vitals on his way up to the loft. 

When he came in, he saw the kid slumped on the couch with a very pissy, un-Sandburg-like look on his usually smiling face.

“Hey, Chief. How’s it going?” Jim whistled a little as he hung up his coat and dropped his keys in their usual place. 

Sandburg said nothing, sinking a little deeper into the couch cushions and glaring at the TV. 

Jim stopped on his way into the kitchen, looking back at his silent partner. 

"Sandburg?"

Blair shook his head, setting his jaw defiantly. “Don’t even get me started, man. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Come on, Chief," Jim wheedled. "It can’t be that bad. Besides, didn’t you have a hot date tonight?” Jim grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and waved one at Blair. 

"I'm not kidding here, Jim. Just don't go there, okay?"

“Oh, I get it.” Jim grinned. ”Did the Cascade Casanova get stood up, or what?”

“Seriously, Jim.” Sandburg was glowering at him from behind a curtain of curls. “Don’t start.” After a second, he just said, “I’m going to bed,” stood up, and left Jim alone with his beers.

Jim shook his head as he claimed the remote. “Night, Chief.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Blair lay in bed and sulked. The clock on the nightstand said 2:35, and he still had yet to get any sleep. This brooding wasn’t doing him any good. He got up and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. 

While he waited for the water to boil, he realized that gravity worked. He really needed to visit the bathroom.

While he stood there in the soft, orangey glow of the nightlight, heeding nature’s call, a thought niggled at the back of his mind. He pulled up his sweats and washed his hands, wondering what he was forgetting. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

**Six Months Later**

Jim winced when he heard the outside door slam before Sandburg stomped up the stairs. This was becoming the routine, lately--Blair stalked around being pissy and Jim avoided him. It had started out with a couple bad dates. Nothing unusual. 

“Everybody hits the skids sometimes, Chief,” Jim had said then, patting the younger man on the back. “You just have to get back on the horse, my friend.” 

Blair had gotten back on the horse, all right. And it had thrown him off on his butt. Not once, not twice, but fifteen times in the past six months. The kid’s ego was practically non-existent.  
Jim was ready to bribe one of the girls from the department to go out with Blair just to get some relief from all the stomping and slamming that had been thundering through the loft--and his eardrums—for the last few weeks. 

This had to stop. 

Jim forced a smile and glanced at his roommate. 

“Hey, Chief. Hope you’re hungry. I’ve got some sushi here with your name on it.”

“Hey, Jim. Maybe in a few minutes.”

 _So. It speaks,_ Ellison thought to himself. 

“No problem,” he said aloud. “It’ll be here. I think I’ll hold off, myself. I have to call Simon before he leaves the office. I think there were some papers I forgot to sign. We can eat when you’re ready.” 

Leaving the kid no room to reply, Jim bounded up the stairs to “call Simon.” He was hoping to help ease the tensions by having a little heart-to-heart talk with his Guide. Whether said Guide liked it or not.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Blair finally joined Jim at the table after spending 15 or 20 minutes holed up in his room, meditating. Ellison waited him out, joining him in the kitchen when he heard the faint suction-sound of the refrigerator door opening. 

He then watched as Blair absently picked at his food, completely ignoring the wasabi and pickled ginger he usually loved.

Ellison sighed inwardly. No time like the present, right? He decided on the direct approach. 

“Come on, Sandburg. Talk to me. What’s been going on, lately? I can hear you stomping home from 5 blocks away. You hardly eat, and man… I gotta tell you… You stink. You used to spend a half hour in the shower, driving me nuts, hogging the hot water and messing with all that goddamn hair of yours. Now I have to turn off my nose every time you walk in the door.” Jim leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "What gives?"

“ 'What gives?' ” Blair’s eyes narrowed. “What gives?? Jim, man, you know what gives, alright?” He practically jumped out of his chair, pacing the tiny kitchen and waving his hands in the air. “I have not had a date—a real, honest-to-goodness, ends-with-a-kiss date—in half a year, that’s what’s wrong! Man, what is _wrong_ with me?”

The kid kept pacing, and Jim tried to think of something constructive to say. When nothing popped to mind (nothing he hadn’t already said a dozen times, at least), he gave an offhand shrug, saying, “Maybe you should try bathing…?”

“Shit, Ellison. You think this is a joke? Well, my life is not a fucking joke. What about Maya, Jim? Huh? Was she a joke? I loved her, man. And she’s gone. Hell, they’re all gone. I never had a fucking chance going in, did I? Come on, Jim. Did I?”

Blair’s anger wound down and he slid bonelessly onto the couch, his breath coming in quick gasps. 

Shit. The last thing Jim wanted was to make the kid cry. He needed to turn the conversation away from Maya, specifically. 

“I know you miss her, Sandburg. I know you’ve had a bad run of luck, lately, and I’m sorry, but you’re acting like it’s personal. Nobody’s doing this to you, and you’re not doing it to yourself. It’s just the way things are. You’ve got to stop thinking like that, Chief. It’s making you nuts.”

Blair sighed deeply, trying to relax. 

“Look, Jim. I know I haven’t been too easy on your ears, lately.” He sighed again, running a hand back through his lank curls to push them out of his face. Feeling the grease from his hair on his fingers, he grinned a bit. “Or on your nose, either.”

“You’re right there, hairboy,'” Jim interjected, suppressing a grin. “Why don’t you hit the shower? We can talk about this later.”

“Good idea, man. And you’re so right--I do stink.” Blair wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t think I was _that_ depressed, man. That’s bad, when you’re so low you don’t even know how bad you smell.” 

He grabbed a few things from his room and headed for the bathroom. “Don’t wait up, Jim, buddy,” he said, lifting a lank lock of hair and sniffing it gingerly. His nose wrinkled again. “This could take a while.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Almost 40 minutes later, Blair emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of what Jim could only describe as hippie-scented steam. 

“Man, I feel SOOOO much better. Jim, you gotta promise me, if you ever, like, smell me smelling like that again, man, tell me. Or throw me in a pool, or something. That was nasty.”

“Anytime, partner.” Jim grinned. “I definitely won’t forget you said that.”

Blair nodded his assent through a wide yawn, stretching his arms high enough that his t-shirt lifted away from the waistband of his boxers, revealing just how much weight he’d lost in the hollow of his once-flat stomach. 

“And Chief?”

Blair looked a question at Ellison.

“I’m taking you to lunch tomorrow. Noon. WonderBurger. And DON’T go whining about fat, stick-man.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Blair found himself in a holding-pattern for the next couple of months. The Fall term had started, and his new students were really showing some promise. Even though it was already 8pm, he’d decided to settle in at his tiny office and do some preparations for a lecture he was giving on Central American fertility rites. 

As he started compiling his notes, he realized he didn’t have much in the way of artifacts or other visual aides for that particular area. Wrinkling his brow, he tried to think if any of his colleagues had collection pieces he could borrow. Then, as he was copying a specific passage onto his 3-by-5 cards, a light bulb went off in his head. 

As Sandburg frantically ripped through his desk drawers, the scribbled notecards he'd been working on slipped to the floor and landed accusingly, face up, at his feet. 

_“The Mayan and Aztec tribes in South and Central America—men and women alike—believed that small, clay figures used as fertility symbols would enhance an individual’s attractiveness to the opposite sex. The totem, often the gift of a spouse or lover, was believed to harm as well as help a lover in their quest. If not properly cared for, the items were thought to bring bad luck upon their owners. Many were even buried to protect them from damage and maintain their potency. Much like the common European superstitions about breaking a mirror bringing seven years of bad luck, breaking, damaging or losing these totems was believed to bring misfortune and suffering on the owner unless he or she found and/or repaired the figure.”_

Finally surfacing from beneath a pile of unhealthy looking cardboard file boxes, Blair whooped in triumph, gripping a small, red, clay statue. 

"Yessssss! Finally!" 

Blair slumped against the side of the desk, relief coursing through him as he sat the effigy carefully on the desk blotter. 

His smile of victory quickly faded, however, as he realized that he was still missing one tiny--and very vital--little item. 

"Crap! Crap, crap, _crap_!" Blair threw himself onto the floor again, crawling under the desk and running his hands over the dusty floor like a blind man. Finally, he emerged grasping a suspiciously phallic-looking bit of reddish clay between index finger and thumb. 

“Hah!!! Found you, you little bastard,” Blair panted. There was dust smeared on his face, his glasses were askew and his hair was in wild disarray. He didn’t care. He was a man on a mission. 

"Superglue… Superglue," he muttered, tearing into the desk drawers. He just knew he had some in there somewhere…

He continued tearing into the piles of junk until, exhausted, he climbed back into his desk chair in defeat. He was just going to have to go buy some. Nobody else was probably around this late, and he wasn’t going to put this off any longer.

“Blair?” 

He heard the questioning female voice and the soft sound of footsteps on the granite floor. Shit. It sounded like Anna. It _was_ Anna. Shit, shit, shit. She was, Blair thought, the closest thing to a Goddess in khakis and hiking boots. Her reputation in the department was excellent, and her research was consistently, reliably fascinating. He’d been avoiding her like the plague since his bad luck had started, figuring if he could keep away from her, she might never fall for him, but she sure as hell couldn’t reject him, either. 

The footsteps were getting louder, and Blair’s eyes settled on the ancient, weighted tape dispenser on his desktop. 

“ _No way_ ,” he thought crazily. “ _It’ll never work_.”

But his was _Anna_ he was talking about. Anna with the horn rimmed glasses and big, brown eyes.... He wrestled a piece of tape from the dispenser and had just reattached the figure’s missing member when she poked her head in the open door. She smiled a mega-wattage, melt-into-your-boots smile.

“Hi, Blair. I saw your light on. I stayed late tonight to get some work done, but I really think I need a break.” She tilted her head to the side. “Want to get some coffee?”

Blair was temporarily speechless. 

“Uh… Umm… Er…” 

He knew he had to say something. But what…? 

“Um… Yeah.” He smiled broadly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Actually, I was thinking about getting out of here, myself. Where do you want to go?”

Blair stood up and pulled his jacket off the back of his chair, noticing he’d left the center desk drawer open. Closing it with a quick bump of his hip, he walked around the desk to leave. 

He heard a tiny *tap* from behind him and turned to see the re-neutered statue standing accusingly on his desktop. No sooner had he opened his mouth when Anna suddenly looked at her watch. 

“You know,” she started, “it is getting kind of late. I don’t know what’s even open on a Sunday night around here. Maybe we should just…”

“Wait!” Blair grabbed the figurine, shoving the pieces back together and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. His left hand was all that was holding the pertinent part in place.

“Oh, I’m sorry Blair. Forget something? It’s okay.” She continued. “Anyway, I was going to say that, you know, it is getting late and I thought maybe we could…”

Blair sucked in his breath. “ _I knew it,_ ” he thought. “ _Here it comes. I should have just bought the freakin' glue._ ”

“…go back to my place,” she finished, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “I have some fantastic Guatemalan coffee, and we could talk about your last paper.”

The breath Blair had been holding escaped in a soft sigh of relief. Clutching the statue pieces together tightly in his pocket, Blair used his free hand to lock and close his office door.

They chatted as they walked down the dark hall towards the faculty parking lot. Blair’s hand was cramping already, but he didn’t feel a thing. 

“Uh, hey, Anna? You wouldn’t happen to have any SuperGlue laying around, would you…?" 

 

\--end--


End file.
